


Electricity

by Peeeeeeet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who: Virgin New Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peeeeeeet/pseuds/Peeeeeeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween; three spirits follow the currents of enchantment to a shadowy house in Kent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electricity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Halloween challenge on the Allen-Road LiveJournal community. Originally posted 25th October 2005; slightly revised version posted to my LJ 31st October 2006. Any similarities to Being Human are therefore unfortunate.

The ghost was called Suzanne. She was grumpy, or as she put it, she was dead and it was a long story. The goblin was called Toaf, and preferred the term "Koboldic American" to describe his people, after he had read about it somewhere. The sprite was called Gerald Helpfulton, and didn't like cracks about his name.

Electricity was in the air on Samhain, though only the enchanted could feel it. While human children dressed up as gaudy parodies of their kind, these three usually sat around their bedsit listening to The Smiths and enumerating the many costuming and behavioural discrepancies in the children's performance. If any children should be unlucky enough to select their doorbell that night, the kids would get first a lengthy lecture about respecting supernatural cultures, and then an imaginative death.

Any other year, that is. This particular year the three were in comparatively good spirits (they wouldn't have maimed me for that pun, for instance) and had decided to go "trick or treat"ing themselves.

There were enchanted dwellings all across the globe, and those who could sense the currents in the night sky could follow them, and see where they led. The first few hours had been rather disappointing: gloomy castles, crypts, cursed forests — it was like a day at the office. So they followed one of the lighter paths, a merest tingling in the distance that piqued their jaded curiosity.

It was a place the mortals called Kent, specifically a manor house on a road named Allen. Suzanne was the first to suggest they had made a mistake — certainly the house looked creepy in the midnight shadows, but there was nothing enchanted about it. Gerald was not so sure. He had been a sprite for six hundred and thirty two years, six hundred and twenty four longer than Suzanne had been a ghost. He liked to think he was more sensitive to the ebb and flow of magic in the air, especially on the Eve of Souls. Toaf was the least sensitive of the three, having spent most of his nine hundred year existence down various mine shafts looking for precious stones. Suzanne became restless, and started crooning some song about getting love from bright, white lines. But Gerald was convinced. He could feel the crackle, the sparks as they neared the gate. There was something out of the ordinary here.

Reasoning that the sooner they got it over with, the sooner they could go somewhere interesting, Suzanne jabbed at the doorbell. After a moment, a light came on in one of the downstairs rooms of the house, a pale amber glow spreading out towards them. In another moment, a silhouette emerged in the doorway, a dark shape with a hat on and an umbrella in his hand. He began walking towards them.

"Trick or treat," called Toaf. The others had said that he could say that each time; it was about all he needed to keep him happy.

"What a fascinating choice," said the man in a curious lilting voice. "I've often wondered what it means."

"What it means?" said Suzanne, in a bored voice. "Which word are you having difficulty with?"

"Well," said the man, who looked less spooky now that they could see the colourful pattern of his pullover and the checked trousers that seemed simultaneously one size too big and one size too small. "Is it a choice for me? Do I say trick, or treat?"

"You give us candy," said Toaf, helpfully.

"Or perhaps you are supposed to perform a trick for me?"

"Open the gate," said Suzanne ominously, "and I'll show you a trick."

"Good idea," said the man, "and then if I like it, I can reward you with sweets. I have some jelly babies in here somewhere."

Toaf's mouth started to water. He enjoyed babies. Gerald spoke up. "The practice dates back to ancient times, before Christianity. It wasn't so negative. There were good spirits and bad."

"Ah," said the man inside the gate. "So I suppose I would be the one playing the trick — on the bad spirits, while rewarding the good ones?"

"Nah," said Gerald. "We'd play the trick on you, if we were cursed souls. And offer you a treat if blessed. But that was a long time ago. Now the kids are taught that all ghosts are scary, all witches are wicked. Anything out of the ordinary is to be feared."

"Yes," said the man despondently. "Fear can be a powerful tool in the wrong hands. So I take it you poor creatures are cursed?"

"Yes," said Gerald, which rather surprised Toaf as he'd had no idea. "If you could see our souls, they'd be black. Black like the lungs of a lifelong smoker."

"Well," said the man, fumbling with his keys, "I suppose you'll have to play a trick on me, won't you?"

Suzanne and Gerald exchanged glances. "You can't invite us in," said Gerald, "don't you know anything? We'll tear you to pieces."

"I thought that was vampires," said Suzanne.

"Nah. Vampires can go where they like, they're just too polite to step over the threshold without an invite." The rusty gates had swung open and the man was theatrically bidding them to enter. Toaf walked forward but the other two hovered at the gate. They were thinking the same thing: the trick was being played on them. They didn't understand quite how, but this man had something up his sleeve.

"Welcome to Allen Road," said the man to Toaf. "What trick do you have?"

"I can make a bird come out of my hat," said Toaf proudly.

"Very well. I'd like to see that."

Toaf removed his hat and took out a pigeon carcass. The bird had been dead for a couple of days and Toaf had already had a bit of a nibble earlier. He held it out for the man to inspect.

"Ah, no, thank you. That was very… entertaining. And you?" He turned to Suzanne.

The ghost was still wary, sure that there was more to this than met the eye. It was an enchanted house, after all, however faintly. "I can… I can pass through solid matter."

"Can you indeed? You know I once tried to learn that trick, but could never quite get the knack. All in the wrist action, I presume."

"Um no. You have to be dead and run at things." She demonstrated by running through a nearby tree, still unwilling to pass over the threshold of this man's property.

"Very clever. And you sir?"

"Who are you?" asked Gerald, eyes narrowed.

"Another very interesting philosophical question. What trick do you perform?"

"I have no trick," said Gerald, spitting the word. "I am one of the Fey. We shine and dance for each other, not for mortals."

"The Fey? Then you have all sorts of sorcery at your disposal. You could foretell the future. Or curse me."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm serious. I'm interested in such things. At least tell my fortune."

Gerald hesitated, but took a step forward. "You will die."

"Uncanny," said the man. "I don't know how you do it."

"Beware the eighth man," Gerald said, not quite sure why he was saying it. "He holds cords to bind you and to whip you. A scourge of cords."

"I will, thanks for the tip. Well, three superlative tricks there. I think that deserves three treats. In reverse order, then. Your name, sir?"

"Gerald Helpfulton, sprite of the Fey."

"Gerald. Your soul isn't black at all. It's a rainbow, of puce and ochre and magenta and gold. And you?"

"Suzanne Masero. Deceased."

"Suzanne. You won't be able to move on until you accept that what happened wasn't your fault. Forgive yourself, and you can rest in peace. And…?"

"TOAF!" said Toaf, proudly.

"Here," said the man, reaching into his pocket. "It's topaz."

Toaf's eyes lit up. He's seen beautiful stones in his time, but nothing quite so delicate: as fragile as glass, but with a soft olive tint. And such a beautiful name. He really should carry dead birds around more often.

"Well, goodnight," said the man. "I don't want to be frightfully rude but there's an Inspector Morse repeat on and I can't remember who did it." Toaf joined the others as the man heaved the gates shut and reattached the padlock.

"Thank you," said Suzanne. She couldn't say exactly how, but she felt lighter, as if the man had lifted a hangover from her that she didn't even know she had. So many years of pressure, floating away. "But who are you?"

The man smiled as he pocketed his keys. "Just think of me as a doctor. You've been suffering from various illnesses. But I think you're all on the road to recovery."

The three followed the currents of enchantment back to their home.


End file.
